AKA: KATE

A Name Game.

AKA: Kate Darkness

Darkness surrounded the small town of Aurora like a Shadowmancer; something out of one of those syfy movies. The night sky was dark, illuminated by an Eclipsing Moon blood red. Skinless Frank rode his Harley into town, and pulled into the nearest station, his loud pipes cracking into the desert silence.

“phillitup please,” he asked the attendant.

“Yes sir,” came a soft voice from behind the shadows. 

It was obvious to Frank the voice belonged to a girl, not too old, he guessed.

“Hey mister, headin over to the Le parisien?”

“Le what,” asked Frank.

“Le parisien, it’s the little French pub just down the road. They’re havin Kur Kota tonight.”

“Kur whatta,” Frank replied, a bit confused.

“Kota,” replied the girl, “their doing Kur Kota tonight.

“What’s Kur Kota,” asked Frank.

“It’s kinda like Karaoke and kinda not."

"Oh," replied Frank. 

   "Yeah, well, and that's not all...Um...well, I figured if ya were, I thought, if ya don't mind so much, I’d hitch a ride with ya.”

“Sure,” Frank answered, “but first, what’s your name?”

“Most folks call me Kate; Kate Darkness.”

“Kate Darkness,” Frank said, “that is a Strange One , what’s your real name?”

“Kate Darkness is my real name.”

“So,” Frank replied, “what you’re saying is most people call you by your real name.”

“Yeah…well, but, you don’t understand, some folks call me weirdo buttface.

I like my real name much better, don’t you mister?”

“Well,” Frank commented; scratching his head, “that depends.”

“Depends, depends on what, mister?” Kate answered, curious by Franks answer.

“Well,” Frank responded. “It depends on whether you really do look like a weirdo buttface. Step out of the shadows, let’s have a look at ya.”

“OK mister, but you have ta promise not ta laugh; do ya promise?”

“I promise,” Frank mumbled, fingers crossed behind his back.

“OK,” said the girl, “but if ya do I’m gonna wallop you real good, I will too.”

Kate stepped out into the lighted portion of the station and stood like a soldier awaiting inspection.

“Well sir, whatta ya think, am I, or ain’t I?”

Frank sat straddling his Harley, looking in disbelief. The girl that stood before him was the prettiest girl he had ever set eyes on.

“Girl,” he mumbled, awestruck by her radiance. “Where did ya get the name buttface?”

“From my brother,” she smirked. He and his buddies use to call me that all the time. Guess it sorta stuck. Never knew for sure if it were true or not.

Momma says it’s not, but I think she’s just bein nice. She says I look like a Little chipmunk. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than weirdo buttface.” Frank replied.

“Thanks mister,” she said as she scratched her head. “What’s yur name mister?”

Frank hesitated, wondering if he should tell the truth, or be straight with the girl. She had been honest with him; the least he could do was return the favor.

“Frank,” he said, “Skinless Frank Wilson.”

“Oh my,” she murmured. “What a terribly horrible name. It’s the tops of my hideous names list.”

“Yeah,” Frank giggled, “My mom had a rather odd sense of humor. She named me that for no good reason. I just go by Frank.”

“Well, it’s good to meet ya Skinless, and now that we know each other, maybe you could give me a ride to Le perisian. I've never been on a bike before.”

“Sure,” replied Frank, “only, call me Frank, please.”

“Sure," she giggled, "Frank Please, it's a lot better than Skinless.

“You’ll just love this place, she said as she laced her arm though Franks. "Tonight Michael Kevin Spencer is performing. Most of his stuff is written by Insanity Writer, who also writes for a group named Clockwork. They generally only appear on Wednesdays though. Today’s not Wednesday, it’s Saturday.”

“Yeah, I know what day it is," Frank responded,  "but I thought you said it was Kur Kota night.”

“Oh it is,” she replied, “but not until after Michael performs.”

She paused and put both hands over her mouth,

 “Oh my,” she exclaimed, “tonight is your lucky night too.”

“Really,” Frank smiled, “and how’s that?”

“Tonight,” Kate replied excitedly, “tonight is Nuthin Purple night.

“Nuthin Purple, what does that mean?” asked Frank.

“It means, Skinless, that nobody can’t wear nuthin with no stinkin' purple on it. It’s so much fun watchin folks get tossed out. Last week they throwed out ole Gomer Le Poet. He’s one of the town’s most famous poets. Throwed him out Frank, they throwed him out like he was nuthin. It was hilarious Frank; ya shoulda seen it, ole Gomer a wrigglin like that. Ya ain’t wearin no purple are ya?”

“No,” Frank replied, “not tonight; ain’t my favorite color anyway.”

The rest of the night passed like slick Clockwork, almost Forgotten behind hours of Kur Kota and Michael Kevin Spencer.

Kate and Frank danced the time away, Lost in Wonderland, and a few cold, tall beers.

Author's Note

The names underlined were names I found on WC. Thought it might be fun to put them all in ONE story.

Reviews

[Woody]

funny piece, Mike :) great idea about the names. I should've thought of that, damn it!

[Samuel Dickens]

Mike, you're just a wild and crazy guy! Oh, my, my, my. I can tell you were in the Navy.